


Beautiful Eyes

by ephemerality



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 17 year old Jordan is so cute, F/M, Jordan gets aged back to a teenager and Lydia tries to deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 17:42:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3578256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerality/pseuds/ephemerality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia doesn’t know what she expected when they finally found Jordan after a week of searching, but it certainly wasn’t a teenage Jordan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is so much longer than I anticipated. And honestly, I did not plan that part right after they got home. Don't know how that happened.

Lydia doesn’t know what she expected when they finally found Jordan after a week of searching, but it certainly wasn’t a teenage Jordan.

He’s sitting on the table in Deaton’s office, tapping his fingers against it like he doesn’t like to sit still, swinging his legs like a little kid, watching her intently with those beautiful eyes. He’s been watching her intently since they found him ten hours ago. And not in a creepy stalker kind of way, either. It’s almost exactly like he used to before, except that now his hair is longer and falls over his eyes, making him look even younger. She’s been avoiding his gaze, but, like before, it doesn’t deter him in any way.

She supposes she should be glad that he hasn’t lost it like Derek had. At least he’s taking it well, and he seems to believe them when they tell him what happened. Actually, that kind of worries her too, because any sane person wouldn’t take it well, or believe any word they said, but he seems to. And since he normally seems so sane (at least, old Jordan seemed so sane) it confuses her.

Deaton sighs. “Well, the effects seem to be the same as with Derek. It should wear off in a day or so.”

Which makes sense, Lydia has to admit, especially since the same bitch did it to both of them. But with Derek, Kate had an ulterior motive. With Jordan, she doesn’t seem to have one, and it bothers Lydia.

Of course, she could’ve done it just to torture them, which is what everyone else thinks, but Lydia isn’t entirely sure that’s the case.

“So what do we do until then?” asks Scott.

Deaton shrugs. “Take him home, I suppose. Don’t leave him alone, though, in case of side effects.”

“Or in case Kate comes back,” Stiles mutters.

“I’m sitting right here, you know,” Jordan says, not sounded annoyed or put-out, but simply stating it like a fact. Mature, even as at seventeen.

“I’ll take you home,” Lydia says to Jordan, and he smiles, jumping off the table and following her out to the parking lot. Scott, Stiles, and Deaton all look at her sympathetically as she leaves, but she doesn’t dwell on it. Doesn’t allow herself to dwell on it.

“That’s the first time you’ve talked to me since you found me,” he informs her as they get in the car, like she didn’t already know.

“Yes,” she agrees, and something about her tone shuts him up the whole drive to his apartment.

When they get there, Jordan looks around. “I live here? But it’s so  clean .”

She laughs. “You’re kind of a neat freak.”

“I am?”

“Yup.”

“How do you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

He looks at her with something in his eyes that she can’t quite place. “How do you know that I’m a neat freak?”

“Because not only are you a neat freak with your stuff, you’re a neat freak with other people’s stuff too. I can’t count how many pack meetings we were at where you ended up doing the dishes because they were driving you nuts.”

“But I hate doing dishes.”

Lydia shrugs. “Well, I guess you changed.” She turns to leave.

“You’re mad at me,” he says matter-of-factly, and she stops.

“Mad?” she asks, faking a laugh. “Why would I be mad?”

“Because you weren’t looking for me. You were looking for ‘your me’, the ‘older me’, and you got me instead, and it makes you mad because you feel cheated.”

She turns back to face him. She doesn’t even know how he knows that, but she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised. Jordan was a fantastic people-reader. There is so much emotion on his face and in this moment he looks so much like her Jordan, with his heart on his sleeve and his soul in his eyes, and she can’t take it.

She runs at him, throws her arms around him. He staggers for a moment before letting his arms close around her, holding her close while she cries.

“Hey,” he whispers, stroking her hair and holding her tight, and it makes her cry harder because that’s exactly the way her Jordan holds her. She has to remind herself that this isn’t her Jordan, it’s Jordan but not  her Jordan, when he says quietly, “I’m sorry I’m not the me that you were looking for.”

She shakes her head against his chest. He’s a little shorter than her Jordan, and not as muscular, but he’s still strong, and he still holds her like he means it, even though he doesn’t really remember, he’s held her like this so many times that some part of him must.

“I miss you,” she sobs, and he presses a kiss to her temple. “You’re right here, but  god I miss you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I should be gone in two days, tops, and then he’ll be back. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

Something about the way he says it gives her pause. She pulls her face away from his chest, looking up at him. “What are you talking about?”

He looks at her strangely. “You want him, right? All of you want him. He’ll be back soon and I’ll be gone. There’s nothing to worry about.”

She shakes her head slowly. “Oh, Jordan, is that what you think?”

“What are you talking about?” Now he’s the one who looks confused.

She smiles sadly. “You’re the same person, you and the older version of you. I love you both.”

“But you don’t know me.”

She shakes her head again. “You’re wrong. I know who you will be, and he is a wonderful man. You grow up to be a wonderful man.”

“But I’m not him,” Jordan says, looking away from her. “Not yet.”

“But you will be,” she counters.   
Jordan shakes his head. “I’m nothing like him.”

She reaches up to touch his face, her hand moving softly across his features. Her hand touches his mouth, brushing his lower lip, and he inhales slightly. She smiles. “He does that.”

He brushes the tears off her face with his thumbs, cradling her face in his hands. “Any guy would do that if a beautiful girl was around.”

“He made excuses too.” She leans closer, her tears forgotten. “He was so worried the first time, because I’m 18 and he’s 24, and he’s such a rule-follower.”

“I’m not a rule-follower.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, and he flushes, looking down like he’s wondering why he said that. “Well, Jordan,” she hooks her arms around his neck. “Neither am I.”

A worried look crosses his face. “But I thought-”

She drops a finger on his lips. “Don’t think,” she breathes, and then, even though she should know better, she knows she should know better, but even though he’s not  her Jordan, he’s still Jordan, and right now she needs him more than anything, she replaces her finger with her lips.

It’s nothing like kissing her Jordan, who is soft yet strong, yielding yet dominant, gentle yet firm. With her Jordan, everything is about her, what she wants, if she’s comfortable, but he’s not afraid to take charge either. Her Jordan is not insecure, not afraid, not unsure of himself. He knows who he is and what he wants, and what he wants is her. He’s experienced, and he knows just how to please her. His lips are warm, just like the rest of him, and he lights her up, sets her on fire. When her Jordan kisses her, she knows that he loves her. She can feel it. Her Jordan would’ve stopped this, he would’ve been afraid that he was taking advantage of her, he would’ve picked her up, taken her to the couch, and held her, just held her, until morning.

This Jordan is soft, yielding, gentle. He is not in charge; he doesn’t want to be. He has handed her the reins and lets her set the pace. His lips are electric, like there is fire directly beneath the surface that he can’t control. He’s inexperienced, like he’s still new at this and doesn’t know exactly what to do. This Jordan does not stop her, does not tell her that she’s upset and needs to calm down and that they would talk about it in the morning. He is insecure, and afraid, and unsure of himself, like she’s going to break away and slap him at any moment, and she feels this need to take care of him, to show him that everything’s okay and she would never hurt him. This Jordan reminds her of a kicked puppy, and she wants to kill whoever made him feel this way, like he’s nothing and nobody could ever want or love him, because she wants him and she loves him and he’s everything to her.

She pulls back and grabs his hand, pulling him to the bedroom. He stumbles after her in a daze, and she laughs to herself. Her Jordan gets clumsy after she kisses him like that too.

She sits on the bed and leans back, pulling him with her. The moonlight shines through the window and gives him an ethereal look. She yanks his shirt over his head, and rolls them so he’s lying on his back underneath her. She pulls her dress off and tosses on the floor by his shirt, straddling his hips. He stares at her in a sort of awe, like he can’t believe this is really happening. It makes tears form in her eyes, because her Jordan always looked at her like that.

He reaches up and gently brushes a tear off her cheek. “We don’t have to do this,” he says. “I know you love him, and I’m not him.”

“Say my name.”

“Lydia,” he says quietly, like her name is a treasured secret and he can’t say it too loudly or someone will come and take her away.

She smiles at him. “You look like him. You sound like him. You hold me like he does, you look at me like he does, you even say my name like he does.” She touches his face. “You even have his beautiful eyes. You’re the same to me.”

He studies her face. Then he pulls her face down to meet his and kisses her gently, so gently, and her heart aches because this boy, this beautiful boy, has no idea how to be anything but gentle. Everything that happened to him after he came to Beacon Hills hardened him, in a way, but this Jordan is still innocent. She wishes for a moment that she could keep him like this, innocent and soft-spoken and careful. But she knows that it all happened for a reason, and she still loves her Jordan, even though he’s been through so much to get to where he is.

Jordan reaches around her back to unclasp her bra, but he fumbles and it gets stuck. He frowns at it. “What the…”

She laughs, reaching around to unclasp it for him. “Here, let me.”

He tries to roll them over so he’s on top, but she places a hand on his chest, stopping him. She leans close, her lips brushing his ear. “Tonight’s about you, baby,” she whispers. “Let me take care of you.”

He lies back and lets her take control.

She doesn’t tease him, she doesn’t make him wait, she tries to be a gentle as possible, and it isn’t hard. He inspires this protectiveness inside her, and she can’t help but be gentle. He gasps and moans under her touch, lacing his fingers with hers and kissing her like she is the only thing that matters.

The moonlight reflects off his skin and his beautiful eyes shine, his lips parted softly as his back arches under hers, the movement causing her to gasp. She kisses his neck and he moans quietly.

Afterwards he pulls her close, and she nestles into his chest. “Do you regret it?” he asks.

She kisses him, slow and lingering. “No, Jordan, I don’t regret it.”

“But don’t you feel like you’re cheating on him? The other me?”

“You’re the same person. And I get the feeling he would understand.”

He seems to accept that, and eventually she drifts off to sleep. When she wakes, he’s still there. She feels like he’s not her Jordan, but the truth is that he is. They’re both her Jordan.

He’s still asleep. Sunlight streams in through the window, and it’s a completely different look. The moonlight made him look ethereal, the sunlight makes him look like an angel. But then again, she thinks, he always looks like an angel, he is an angel. His skin is paler than the older Jordan’s, and his hair and lashes are longer. His face is thinner, and his features are slightly more feminine. If the older Jordan was sexy, the younger Jordan is beautiful.

Calling them the older Jordan and the younger Jordan in her head (certainly not out loud) was starting to get tedious, so she decided to go with Jordan Sr. and Jordan Jr. Inwardly, she laughed a little, because Jordan Sr. would love that. It would make him raise an eyebrow and ask if she thought he was old, and she’d say yes, and he’d tackle her, tickling her and peppering her with kisses until she took it back.

She traces the edge of his face with her finger. His eyes flutter open to reveal those beautiful eyes she could write songs about, and he smiles at her. “Lydia,” he says, and that’s all he says, but there’s something about the way he says it, like he’s amazed that she’s still here, and she can’t control herself. She leans down and kisses him, rolling them over so he’s on top this time, and spends the next few hours reminding him that she’s always going to be here.

Eventually they make their way to the kitchen and Lydia makes breakfast while Jordan sits on the counter and tells her about himself. She already knows most of it, and he knows that she knows, but she asks anyway, and he answers. Favorite color: red. Favorite food: Chocolate. Favorite book:  The Count of Monte Cristo . Same as Jordan Sr., almost word for word, until she says, “Tell me about your family.”

Jordan Sr. had tensed and said something noncommittal, changing the subject almost immediately, and she had let him because she didn’t want to push it. But Jordan Jr. just shrugs, says, “My dad died in the army, my mom went to jail for drug possession, and my sister and I ended up in foster care.”

“You have a sister?” This is news to her.

“Haven’t seen her in three years. Or, actually, I guess since I’m technically 24, it’s been ten.”

Lydia frowns. “Why?”

Jordan shrugs. “Lots of families want four year old girls. Not so many want fourteen year old boys.”

She shouldn’t have asked. No wonder Jordan Sr. hadn’t wanted to tell her. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs again. “It’s fine, really. I don’t even remember what she looks like, just that she likes pink, and sparkly things, and her name is Juliet. We had a brother, Jesse, but he got hit by a drunk driver a few months before my mom got arrested.”

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stops cooking and goes over to him, standing on a stool to be at the same height. He parts his legs to let her get closer, and when she steps between them he closes his legs around her waist. She hooks her arms around his neck and kisses him, trying to convey what she can’t put into words. Thankfully, he seems to understand.

The day goes by too fast, with them lounging around on the couch or in bed or sometimes sitting in her backyard, talking about things that don’t matter, forgetting about the outside world, just for a little while. Before she knows it, they’re back in bed, and she’s almost certain that when they wake up, Jordan Jr. will be gone and Jordan Sr. will be back. So she kisses him one last time before they go to sleep, and says, “I love you.”

He starts to say something back but she knows what it’s going to be so she cuts him off. “I do, Jordan, don’t even argue with me. You and him are the same, and I love you both. Please don’t ever forget that.”

He nods. “I love you too.”

When she wakes up again, Jordan Sr. is staring down at her, his finger curled around a lock of her hair. She jumps on him, throwing her arms around him, knocking him over on his back, kissing him hard.

“I missed you,” she whispers, and he looks up at her with those beautiful eyes.

“I missed you too.” **  
**


End file.
